


Here's To The Night

by pocketedwocket



Series: Yes And... [1]
Category: American (US) Actor RPF, John Mulaney - Fandom, Oh Hello - Kroll & Mulaney, US Comedians RPF
Genre: College, Improv, M/M, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 20:57:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16605323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketedwocket/pseuds/pocketedwocket
Summary: Nick Kroll meets John Mulaney the autumn of his senior year at Georgetown University. Nothing is the same after that.





	Here's To The Night

Nick Kroll meets John Mulaney for the first time during the autumn of his senior year at Georgetown. Nick is holding auditions for the improv group, and John is dragged in by a friend seemingly by accident.

It’s not until much later Nick realizes that day was no accident. It was destiny.

*

By the time John and Nick come back from the winter break, they’re fast friends. John spends much of the first two months of 2001 rehearsing for a school play. Nick gleefully hassles him about missing improv but goes to watch his performance in the final night of the play regardless.

The February wind is unkind. Nick tugs his scarf tightly around his neck, turning his collar up against the cold. After tonight’s show, John had given Nick the name of the bar everyone would be at after the cast party. John wasn’t old enough to legally drink yet, but that probably wouldn’t slow him down. He was charming - someone would buy a drink for him, no doubt.

Nick doesn’t see them right away when he walks in the bar, but he can hear immediately that John’s group is at the far end of the bar. The large group of theatre students are in the back corner, squawking like hens. Drama students were easy to spot. He recognizes a few people, some from campus, some from the show. And then there’s John - beer in hand, which had to have come from someone older, an older student actually old enough to hit up the bartender. 

Nick shakes a few hands as he makes his way over to the booth where John is seated. One redhead from the theatre department comes up and gives him a hug while he’s waiting for a beer. He vaguely recognizes her but can’t quite place her face. Maybe she came to improv a few times during sophomore year.

“John asked about you,” she jeers happily into his ear. “He talks about you a lot, actually. Can you take care of him?” Nick doesn’t quite know what to make of that. He doesn’t think he’s ever met this woman but somehow she knows he belongs to John Mulaney. 

John calls his name excitedly when he spots Nick. He pushes him into a booth, sliding in next to him. “You guys know Nick,” he says to everyone else. Nick gives a friendly wave and they carry on with their vibrant conversation. Nick’s actually never met most of these people, but he’s immediately welcomed into the fold. John was tremendous at turning strangers into friends.

Nick likes the easy way John’s arm rests against the back of his shoulders where it’s propped up on the booth behind them. Eventually, after a few more drinks, John just lets his arm hang lower, actually letting it rest around his shoulders. Nick swallows. _Drama kids are handsy anyway_ , he reminds himself. Insular, too. Not like the guys at improv, where competition was mostly a friendly game. 

He surveys the bar as he finishes his beer. The handsome couple who played the leads in the play were kissing at the bar, and just past them, a pair of two well-manicured young men were staring deeply into each other’s eyes. The blonde is caressing the other’s hand, one finger softly brushing against his turned up palm. It’s unbearably intimate, even though they’re in a packed bar on a Saturday night. Nick feels like he’s witnessed too much. He turns back to his own table. They’re arguing about the new _Memento_ movie. 

“Are you going to take this monster home, Kroll?”

John has finished his drink (which was undoubtedly not his first), and Nick realizes a few other people are missing their pint glasses. John now has three empty glasses in front of him. Oops.

“Yeah, take me home,” John leers. Nick’s tongue darts out to lick his lips.

Nick helps John out of the booth and leads him through the bar. They walk back to John’s dorm side by side, their shoulders pressed close, arms bumping companionably as they walk lonely streets they’ve walked together a thousand times before.

The party doesn’t stop when they stumble back to the dorms. Nick digs around and finds a half-empty bottle of tequila. “It’s practically empty, but there’s some OJ in the fridge,” he says. 

“Half-full!” John cries.

Nick pours a generous amount of tequila into each red plastic cup, and John steals his away before Nick can add anything else.

“You okay there?” Nick asks, reaching a hand out to steady John, who is tipping forward at an alarming angle. John’s drink sloshes over the edge of his red Solo cup. Nick takes him by the shoulders and steers him back to the bed, pushing him forward until the backs of his knees hit the edge and he stumbles down. “Take a load off, Mulaney.”

Nick is rather bleary-eyed himself, only this time the culprit is the marijuana in the glass jar on the coffee table. He sits down beside his friend and starts rolling a messy joint. After a minute of working with shaky fingers, he licks the rolling paper and sparks it up, taking a deep hit. He passes the joint to John, whose gangly limbs seem awfully uncoordinated as he tries to reach for it with the hand that’s already full of liquor. Nick takes the red cup from his hand and passes him the joint.

“Pub safety?” John mumbles. Nick knows the phrase. They’ve become practically professionals at this, setting up the room carefully to avoid the university’s public safety department and campus police. Nick points to the rolled up towel stuffed into the crack under the door and the nag champa incense that’s wafting up from the corner. 

“See? All set.” 

John frowns around the joint. “Smells like wet hippie.”

“You smell like a wet hippie, sourpuss,” Nick grins. He takes a sip of John’s drink and frowns. “Jesus, what the hell is this?”

“Tequila.”

“And?”

John’s eyes narrow at him. “And tequila, dumbass.”

“You’ve never heard of a mixer?”

John parrots him, mocking him with a high-pitched mumbled response. “Give it back if you’re just going to complain.”

“I’d rather smoke some ganja, anyway,” Nick insists, plucking the joint from John’s fingers and passing him the cup.

They consume their respective poisons in relative silence for a few minutes. 

“You looked great with that fake mustache,” Nick compliments him after a moment. Tonight had been the closing night of his first college play, and of course Nick was there to see it. “And that second act - wow.”

“You fell asleep, didn’t you?”

Nick’s cheeks turn scarlet. “Guilty.”

Mulaney shakes his head. “Some patron of the arts you are.”

“Hey, I liked seeing you on stage. It feels right.”

“Yeah,” John agrees, taking another deep sip from his cup.

“Plus, now you can come back to improv. Questions isn’t the same without you.” John held a long-standing and impressive winning streak in this particular game within the Georgetown Players Improv Group. Nick couldn’t deny he was proud of his friend. He knew what he was doing when he picked him to be part of the cast.

“Do you want to play?” John asks, and Nick groans. Even blind drunk, there was no rest for the wicked. Mulaney could probably still kick his ass at this game three sheets to the wind.

“Right now?”

“Why not?”

“Do we have to?”

“Don’t you _want_ to?”

John’s got a smirk on his face that occasionally disappears behind the red cup. 

“Why do you like this game so much?” Nick chuckles, working on a second joint. He sprinkles some weed into the rolling paper with careful hands.

“Why _don’t_ you like this game?”

“You don’t know?”

“Do you want to come closer?” John asks, changing tactics. It wasn’t unusual for a game of Questions to turn into a game of Chicken, but there was a dark glint in Mulaney’s eye.

Nick wasn’t sure what this _was_ at first, some kind of friendly joke or attention, some kind of curiosity that all young men experienced. He kept thinking this until he started wondering what John’s tongue would feel like down his throat, or what those long fingers would look like as they slid his glasses off his face, or if the red flush that crept across John’s cheekbones when he was embarrassed might continue all the way down his chest. Then Nick woke the fuck up and realized this was probably something different, something more. 

Nick licks the rolling paper and sets the finished joint down on the nightstand.

John guzzles the remainder of his cup’s contents, making eye contact with Nick as he does so. He tosses the empty red cup away.

Then John’s leaning forward, and Nick doesn’t know if he’s lost his balance or if John is moving with intent. Then John’s mouth is warm on his and he still thinks it might be an accident, until he feels John’s tongue. 

He comes to life when it really sinks in what’s happening here, and Nick starts to kiss his friend back. John clutches at his front desperately, and Nick yanks him closer, slides an arm around his waist. John is kind of bony but Nick likes the way he feels. It doesn’t feel _wrong_. He’s only an inch or two taller than Nick at the most, but he’s so skinny that it seems he’s nothing but arms and legs where he’s almost crouched in Nick’s lap. 

Nick tugs him closer, his hand warm at John’s lower back. He’s not the most experienced at this, but John’s not complaining, just kissing him sweetly. They make out, John almost folded there in Nick’s lap.

“Is this weird? This is weird,” Nick says against John’s mouth, mostly without thinking, but he doesn’t stop kissing him.

“Only because you’re making it weird,” John counters, sliding a hand up to his friend’s neck so he can angle his jaw and slide his tongue into Nick’s mouth. 

The kiss keeps Nick quiet. John and Nick take turns leading their movement, falling into a natural rhythm. 

John moves back sightly, just an inch, keeping his mouth just out of Nick’s reach. Nick leans up and John pulls back playfully, holding him out of reach again. Nick surges up, chasing John’s lips with his own.

Nick kisses him again, backing John against the wall. One of his hands curls around John’s slim hips. 

“Is this okay?” Nick asks, thinking of the game still, his hands hesitating at John’s belt buckle.

“Yes, and -” John replies breathlessly. Old habits die hard. He clutches Nick’s shoulders. Time seems to slow down as Nick tugs his zipper down, then slides his trousers and boxers over his hips and down to his thighs. John freezes when Nick touches his thigh. Nick squeezes him.

“Relax,” he says. “It’s just me.” Nick’s thumb brushes against the fine hairs on John’s upper leg. He pulls on John’s pants where they’re rolled around his thighs. “Do you want to take these off?”

John nods and Nick helps him take them completely off, sliding them off his long legs. 

Nick touches him slowly and carefully, fascinated by John, by his body. His dick is longer than Nick’s but slimmer, and the head of his dick is smooth and pink. Nick slides his foreskin back with his thumb before wrapping his hand around John’s cock. He can feel John thickening in his fingers. 

Nick grins a dirty grin as he jerks John off. 

“Put your mouth on it,” John says suddenly, boldly, having had a surprising but splendid vision of Kroll’s lips wrapped around his dick.

Nick leans forward and tastes him, tentatively. It’s musky, and he licks a drop of precome off of John’s dick without meaning to. He licks his lips. Nick takes him in his mouth again, swiveling his tongue around the head and trying to swallow him deeper this time. Nick adjusts his motions based on the way John’s slender fingers tighten in the collar of his green henley. 

“You’re doing so good,” Nick encourages him, even though he’s the one doing most of the work here. He feels Mulaney’s thighs shudder beneath his hands and knows he said the right thing. He keeps going, modifying his technique to apply more pressure when he realizes he can coax embarrasing little groans from John’s mouth. 

Nick’s never done this before, never had a guy’s dick in his mouth. He’d experimented with a friend in the seventh grade but they hadn’t gotten any further than furtive jerk-off sessions that hadn’t actually gone anywhere. Losing his virginity in his sophomore year hadn’t made him feel this way, either.

John makes him feel safe trying this.

“I got you, buddy.”

Nick doesn’t know why he’s being so reassuring. Maybe he needs that reassurance as much as John does; that’s his best guess. He slides his tongue across the bottom of John’s dick then sucks him down again, no finesse or expertise, just Nick’s mouth warm around John.

John makes a soft, breathy sound that gets caught somewhere in his throat. It’s cute as hell. Nick suddenly becomes obsessed with getting him to make that sound again. 

Nick uses his hands to coax John’s thighs further apart. He strokes him firmly, then blows a puff of air against the head of John’s penis experimentally, watching his flushed cheeks for a reaction. John’s dick bobs once, as eager as he is. 

Nick drags his tongue against the underside of John’s cock.

“You can touch me,” Nick offers and John brings a hand up to rest in his dark hair. Nick can feel his hand there, warm and still, and somehow _still_ way too polite. Nick likes the way it feels, John’s hand heavy at the back of his neck.

Nick summons his courage and swallows him down, taking him as deep as he can go, sputtering a little bit and choking against John’s cock. Spittle escapes the bottom of his mouth when John jerks up but it’s not as distracting as the high-pitched “ _oh_ ” that escapes Mulaney’s mouth. John’s mouth forms a perfect O like a choirboy hitting a silent note. John’s fingers spring to action, gripping his head. 

John thrusts a little bit harder into Nick’s open mouth until Nick gags around his cock. John’s hips piston up uncontrollably. Reflexively, his fingers tighten in Nick’s curls. “Sorry,” John apologizes instinctively. 

Nick rubs his thumb against John’s hip as if to say _everything’s okay_ , and swallows John even deeper. Nick has no idea what he’s doing either. He reaches down to his crotch and adjusts the bulge in his jeans. He didn’t expect sucking cock to make him so hard but he is undeniably so. Maybe it’s just that it’s _John_ , the taste of him in Nick’s mouth and the smell of his Axe body spray arresting Nick’s nostrils.

Nick swivels his tongue around the head of John’s penis and John makes that noise again, a second and third time.

John whimpers. _Fucking hell_ , Nick thinks, and that’s it for him.

Nick pulls off John’s dick with a slick _pop_ when John taps at his shoulder, understanding what he’s trying to say without needing the words. He wraps his fingers around John’s member again, and squeezes the base, then pumps him until there’s come spurting all over his hand. Nick doesn’t know whether to look at John’s dick or his face so he looks back and forth, between his jizz-covered hand and where John is screwing his eyes shut and sucking in air. The tops of his cheeks are pink. 

Nick lays back with a burgeoning sense of accomplishment. He watches John, tracing the line of his jaw with his eyes. 

John looks over at him with a sort of stunned look, his eyes big and bright. He’s still taking uneven breaths. He puts his hand over his heart, fingers moving to find his own pulse. Nick can only assume he’s counting the beats when John keeps his hand there. It’s equal parts ridiculous and endearing.

“Speechless, huh? That’s new,” Nick comments.

John raises his middle finger from where it’s sitting on his chest. He looks so relaxed, carefree, even, until a look of horror crosses his face and he sits up a little, propping himself up on one elbow. “What about you? I’m sorry,” he says awkwardly but polite. “I should return the favor.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Nick tells him. John reaches for his belt buckle anyway. Nick catches his hand and pulls it back up between their chests. “Fuck, this is embarrassing. I kind of already-“

“You came?” John asks, a weird sort of pride on his face. “In your pants?”

“Don’t say it like that,” Nick cringes. He covers his face with the hand that’s not covered in John’s come. He wipes his other hand on his discarded t-shirt.

“Nooo, it’s…” John tugs Nick’s hand away from his face so he can look at him. He twines their fingers together. “I made you do that? It’s hot.”

“Whatever you say, Mulaney.”

“Yeah. It is what I say,” he boasts with drunken vigor. Nick didn’t realize he’d be such a toppy little brat. John makes him laugh - he’s good at that, _too_ good at it - and Nick buries his face in John’s shoulder, grinning into his skin. 

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re holding my hand,” Nick says after a few beats, looking over at John. John squeezes his hand as if to say _yes, you noticed_.

True to form, Nick gets drowsy first, dropping his head onto John’s shoulder. “Let’s sleep,” Nick begs.

John winds an arm around Nick, tugging a blanket up over their bodies.

*

John wakes up to the morning sun filtering through the blinds. He groans and turns his head. He reaches an arm out, expecting to find his pillow, and his palm makes contact with bare skin. _Fuck_ , he thinks, blinking a few times and trying to remember the night before. He’s got nothing.

John realizes, after a moment, that he’s next to Nick, who is also in some state of grogginess. _Why am I next to Nick?_

“Good morning.”

John covers his eyes with his hand. “Nooo.”

“Don’t worry. It’s Sunday.” Eventually Nick’s fingers find their way to John’s short hair. He lets out a sort of involuntary whimper when they stroke the side of his scalp. John has a splitting headache and it just feels so good. How does Nick know that feels so good?

“What do you want, buddy?” Nick murmurs.

“Honestly? I want to smoke,” John says, closing his eyes. “Is that bad?”

Nick rolls over and reaches around his nightstand. He opens the bottom drawer. “Wake and bake, baby,” he says, pulling out a small Mason jar and a grinder. He packs a bowl with nimble fingers. He passes it to John for greens.

“That was fast,” John compliments. He takes an awfully large hit, hoping the marijuana will calm down his headache. 

John relaxes after a few hits, suddenly finding the comforter increasingly comfortable. _This weed is much better than mine,_ he thinks, running his hand across the comforter. Nick has gotten some good shit from California - real good shit. He decides he’s just going to lay there and go with this. He passes the bowl to Nick.

“Pretty good, right?” Nick asks.

 _Yes_ , John thinks, but it comes out “Mr-hmm,” sort of dry and rough. He pushes his hair back nervously with his fingers. “Excuse me,” he says after clearing his throat.

Nick sucks down an impressive hit, smiling at John with his mouth closed. He exhales. They pass the bowl back and forth a few times until Nick’s eyes are red. His curse is to always look fucked up, eyes burning after only one bowl when John could smoke an eighth in a sitting and the only clue would be a wicked glint in his eye.

“Thanks,” John says, still cottonmouthed, wondering why he even bothers opening his mouth. He’s going to stop that now. 

Twenty minutes later they’re both splayed out on the bed, limbs pressed close against each other’s sides. John feels like a noodle. John is slowly dragging his fingertips over Nick’s skin. It’s a weird sensation.

They should get up and start the day - there’s a few homework assignments that need to be addressed, and there’s that matter of breakfast (or maybe a late lunch at this point). It’s so damn comfortable, though, Nick pressed against John and vice versa. The weed’s making them feel particularly lazy. 

John just decides to be present, closing his eyes and turning so that he’s closer to Nick. He presses his face into Nick’s shoulder, and tries to go back to sleep.

*

There’s only a certain amount of homework John can pretend to do on a weekend. He’s reading something for English class while Nick works on a paper. Nick catches a glimpse of John drooping and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

“When’s the last time you slept, man?” Nick asks.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s Friday night.” With that he flings his paperback behind him. Then John stands up, stretches his arms behind his head. “Let’s do shots!” He gets up to pilfer his secret stash, emerging with a bottle of tequila.

John’s movements are uncoordinated as he pours liquor into the small styrofoam espresso cups they were using as shotglasses. “Cheers.”

“Cheers, John,” Nick toasts, looking him in the eye.

John pours another round. “You wanna do a line?”

“Sure. Maybe a little.”

“I’ve got a little.” John pulls a small baggie out of _somewhere_ that frankly, has more white powder in it than Nick’s ever seen. He was curious what John’s idea of little really was. He also wondered about the whereabouts of John’s roommate.

“He’s at his girlfriend’s place,” John says, as if he could read Nick’s mind. John lays out two imperfect, crooked lines on the table. Then he leans down and snorts both.

“I didn’t forget about you,” he grins, scooping more coke out of the bag and lining up the powder a little more neatly this time.

Nick follows suit, snorting the line and tilting his head back to mimic John’s actions.

“How about another drink?” he asks, just to break the silence and pull his mind off the nasty drip in the back of his throat.

“After I smoke a cigarette,” John insists.

They hang out just outside John’s door. They’re technically supposed to be fifty feet from the building, but John just holds the cigarette low whenever someone walks by.

John’s neighbor walks past and frowns at them. She doesn’t say a word.

“What’s that all about?” Nick looks kind of twitchy. John holds out his cigarette for him to take but Nick passes.

John runs a hand through his own hair. “No idea.”

Nick waits with him until he finishes smoking, leaning patiently against the doorway.

John pours him another shot for his nerves once they get back inside his dorm. “Is this okay to mix?” Nick asks, but throws back the shot regardless. He fidgets with his thumbnail.

The baggie comes out again. John organizes a few more lines on the table. Snorts.

John leans across the table and plants a kiss on Nick’s cheek. “I don’t wanna stop.” 

“By all means, go ahead,” Nick says, thinking he means the cocaine. Then John surges forward, kissing him on the mouth. He winds one hand into the collar of Nick’s shirt. 

Nick is surprised, but lets John tug him into a kiss anyway. Nick drinks him in, the taste of John’s cigarettes heavy on his tongue. They kiss over the table until John gets frustrated with the angle. He growls a little and says Nick’s name with insistence, once, twice. 

“Get your ass over here,” Nick says, and he doesn’t have to ask twice. John gets up so he can stand over Nick. He takes Nick’s face in his hands, kissing him again and again. 

Nick tucks a hand into John’s back pocket. He can feel him smile into the kiss. John’s movements are a little jerky from the coke, but his mouth is still tender against Nick’s, John’s tongue begging for his lips to part. Nick closes his eyes, trying to keep his mind off the fact that they keep doing this whenever John’s sloshed out of his mind. Instead he tries to focus on John’s soft lips on his, letting himself enjoy the kiss. He lets John lead, who angles Nick’s mouth up for better access.

Eventually John pulls back, sucking his teeth a little. He picks up the bottle, then hops on the table, dangling his feet next to Nick. He pours Nick another shot, then takes a swig straight from the bottle. He reaches out to graze the tip of his fingers against the shell of Nick’s ear.

They talk until almost two in the morning - about comedy, politics, music, food - only stopping because John passes out in his bed. Nick throws a blanket on top of him before switching the light off and heading back to his own dorm to sleep until dawn.

*

Nick watches John from the edge of his spiral notebook, peering over the top. John, fresh-faced and focused, writes furiously, hard at work on something riotously funny, no doubt. Nick loves watching him like this, when he’s in the state of flow, cogs turning in his brain.

John catches him staring. He nudges Nick’s foot with his own. 

Nick looks back down at his paper, embarrassed. John just smiles at him. “What’s another word for weird?” he asks, working through a joke.

“Bizarre. Far out,” Nick supplies. “Queer,” he says, mouth feeling strange around the word.

John crosses something out and says “Read this.” Instead of handing Nick the legal pad, he pats the spot beside him. Nick moves into it effortlessly. He leans against John, reading the sketch over his shoulder, nose scrunching up with laughter.

They settle against each other, Nick finding a comfortable place by John’s side. John watches him as he reads the entire script. He times out his laughs, waiting for Nick to reach the end. When he does, John puts his hand on Nick’s knee. He squeezes.

Nick looks up and turns his head slightly, and John’s mouth is right there. His eyes dart up to John’s - but John is only looking down at Nick’s mouth. And then they’re kissing, Nick surging forward the final inch to connect their mouths.

John slides a hand into Nick’s curly hair, gripping his skull tight. John’s good with words, but the kiss speaks volumes, saying more than he ever could out loud. John’s fingers caress the back of his head. 

Nick fumbles for the bedside lamp, switching it off. Darkness descends upon them. He falls back onto the bed, tugging John down with him as he goes.

John knocks Nick’s hand away, pinning it to the bed besides Nick’s head. He starts to unbutton Nick’s shirt, pausing to rip his own off and throw it to the floor.

Their shirtless bodies move against each other in the dark. John’s body is warm and solid above his. Finding confidence in the shadows, Nick touches him freely. He runs his hands across John’s shoulders, then over his chest, being greedy as he was often afraid to be with the lights on. 

John slides Nick’s glasses off his face, and somehow it's more intimate than John pulling his shirt off. John dips his head low to kiss him.

Nick gets his hands on John’s hips to pull him closer, but it has the unintended effect of bringing their crotches together. Everything is electric for a moment, and Nick’s skin starts to burn. He gasps into John’s open mouth. Then John does it again, on _purpose_ , grinding against him so that Nick feels the hard line of his cock grinding against his own. A shock runs up his spine. John kisses him deeper, thrusting again this time slowly so Nick knows he’s doing it deliberately. The hot slide of their bodies is making Nick feel things he didn’t know he had inside him. Who knew a former altar boy could be so dirty?

John takes his hand from where it’s propping himself up, and slides it into Nick’s curls, pulling them together from their sweaty chests to their groins. Nick sticks his hand in John’s back pocket for a good grope, crushing their hips together. They rut against each other’s hips, breaths getting heavier and heavier as their bodies move together.

John reaches down between them to unbutton Nick’s pants. His long fingers take Nick in hand and he slides them up and down the shaft experimentally. Nick groans, unable to stop himself from thrusting into John’s hand. 

Nick tugs at John’s belt loops. “You too,” he says, and John starts shrugging out of his corduroys. They roll until they are laying side by side, and then John takes both of them into his hand. Nick makes a high pitched little sound as John jerks them slowly. He sucks in a deep breath.

Nick kisses up John’s jaw, endorphins raging. John turns his head to catch a kiss, encouraging him to go deeper, dirtier. “Do you wanna try -” and John nods before he can even get the sentence out. He positions himself over Nick on the bed, adjusting Nick as he sees fit. 

“Are you ready?” John asks. Nick grins.

“Go for it, babe,” he says, the endearment just slipping out. John blushes and goes to work.

Nick thinks the sight of his eyes peering up over his dick through long lashes is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. John’s technique is sloppy but earnest, but most importantly, effective, and his mouth is making delightfully wet sounds around Nick. He works with zeal and concentration until Nick’s entire body tenses and he spills down John’s throat.

John wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.

“What do I taste like?” Nick asks without thinking. 

John collapses on the bed beside him, touching his lips with his index finger. “I don’t know. Like you.”

Nick gathers him up in his arms, kissing the taste off John’s tongue.

*

The biting frost of February turns into the crisp chill of March. It was all going by so fast. Like one of those movies where pages were ripping off the calendar at a breakneck speed.

Both Nick and John are looking forward to a respite from classes, but spring break is an unmistakable sign that the end of the year is getting closer and closer, and with it, Nick’s impending graduation from Georgetown. John goes back to Chicago for a week, and Nick visits his parents’ house in Rye, spending a few days in New York City with friends.

At the end of spring break, John and Nick meet up two days before classes begin. They arrive a night before all of their friends and roommates were due to return, hoping to have the town to themselves. 

Their hellos are fond. John’s long arms come at him for a hug, which Nick returns immediately. John looks good. Rested. He’s wearing a dark blue long-sleeved shirt and jacket, clearly enjoying the fact that he’s out of the Chicago winter.

The two young men walk around the mostly empty campus, enjoying the absence of the majority of the student population. They chatter about their spring break, their parents, their trips back to Georgetown, occasionally making clever quips about the people they see.

They get pizza and walk downtown until a black cloud moves over the sky, threatening rain. The first drops start to fall as they take the familiar path back to Nick’s dorm.

John wastes no time when they get back to the dorm. After closing the door, John confidently pushes Nick against it. He’s always so much less chaste than he seems to be at first. 

Nick’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, and John’s eyes follow the motion.

“Can I touch you?” John asks, rather formally, and Nick takes his hand, puts it on his chest. His skin is burning where they’re pressed together.

“Ask nicely,” Nick teases.

He’s not prepared for the velvet way John murmurs “ _Please_.”

John slides his other hand between their bodies, moving his fingertips lower and lower. He slides his hand past Nick’s waistband, pressing Nick against the door with his body and taking him in hand. 

Nick tries to lean his head in for a kiss, but John dodges, dipping his head low and pressing his lips against Nick’s neck. He bites the soft bare skin between his neck and shoulder, just above his shirt.

“Fuck,” Nick mutters, sliding his hand into John’s short hair. “Let me -” Nick angles his head up for a kiss for him since John won’t do it himself.

It’s messy and rushed but it feels so, so good.

“Bed,” John demands, unusually concise.

Nick starts to obey, but John catches him by the waist before he clamors onto the bed. He tugs Nick’s long-sleeved shirt up over his head then pushes him back until his knees hit the bed. John scoops Nick up and hitches him onto the bed. 

Nick’s never been moved around like that before - he’s been pushed around, sure, but not _lifted_ the way John just manhandled him. Something in his chest flutters.

The second kiss lasts longer than the first. They hang out like that for a minute, kissing, until Nick gets impatient and pulls John up onto the bed with him. Nick rolls them over so that he’s straddling John, pressing him into the bed with one hand on his chest.

“See something you like?”

There’s a scarlet flush spreading across John’s neck and up to the right side of his face. Nick can see it’s creeping down his chest, too, hidden by his shirt.

“God,” Nick says, reaching out to drag his finger across the warm pink skin. “You’re hot,” he says. He follows the rose-colored flush with his finger until it disappears under John’s polo.

“Just… very turned on,” John admits. “What are you thinking?” 

Nick bites his lip. “I wanna lick, lick, lick you from your head to your toes.”

“Whoa, Nelly.”

“Close. Ludacris.” Nick sticks his tongue out at John, then slides his cold hands under John’s shirt. He can feel John shiver under his palms. 

“Well… go for it,” John smirks, and that’s all the encouragement Nick needs to twist his fingers in John’s shirt and shrug it off. John lifts his upper body up a fraction to make the job easier. Nick drops the shirt on the floor. 

So many instances their fumblings are rushed or frantic, but Nick takes his time. Nick’s kisses are slow, honeyed. He crushes their mouths together, running his tongue along John’s lower lip before taking John’s bottom lip between his own and sucking at it. “You taste so good,” Nick says, tasting cigarettes and coffee and the unmistakable trace of _John_.

Their mouths fit together perfectly. _They_ fit perfectly.

John keeps one hand on his waist while they kiss, the tips of his fingers tucked into the edge of Nick’s boxers. Every once in a while his free hand skates across Nick’s back, long fingers stroking his spine.

Nick savors the feel of John’s lithe body underneath his after more than a week apart. He’d missed him, not realizing he’d missed _this_ , too. 

Before they know it, it’s two in the morning and they’re still lip-locked; they’ve been making out for what feels like hours. Nick checks the clock - it _has_ been hours.

“Maybe we should get some rest,” Nick offers, and John makes a disappointed noise but allows Nick to extricate himself from John’s hold. He starts to get up but Nick places a hand on his bicep. “You can stay.”

They start to tug their pants off to make themselves more comfortable. There’s not much room to maneuver in the small bed and their knees knock into each other as they pull their jeans off.

Nick falls asleep first - typical. John gets up to switch off the light and then climbs back into Nick’s bed, crawling over Nick to his normal spot by the wall. They would typically never be so careless, falling asleep together like this, especially in their boxers, but Nick’s roommate wasn’t due back until the night before classes started. They had the suite to themselves.

John pulls Nick’s blanket up over the two of them. He tugs Nick’s pillow over just enough so that he could sneak his head on, too. He wiggles around for a moment, trying to get comfortable, eventually tucking one leg over Nick’s and throwing an arm over his waist.

John shuts his eyes and drifts off to asleep.

*

The light flicks on. Nick covers his eyes. 

A voice comes from the doorway. “Oh shit!” It’s Nick’s roommate. “Sorry,” Drew grumbles, flicking off the light. Nick sits up in bed, looking at where he and John are still pressed together.

“Fuck,” Nick says, shaking John awake. He jostles John’s bare shoulder until he stirs.

“What?” he asks, bleary. “Huh?”

“Drew just walked in,” Nick says, putting his face in his hands. John sits straight up.

“Today’s Sunday?” 

“That’s what you’re concerned about?” Nick groans and shakes his head. “You didn’t lose a day, John. It’s Saturday. Drew’s back early.” Nick tosses John his striped polo shirt, which had made its way underneath the narrow bed. 

John exhales heavily. 

“Well, it’s not like he walked in while we were _in flagrante delicto_.”

“ _In flagrante delicto_?”

“Makin’ whoopee.”

“Are you serious?” Nick rolls his eyes, looking up at the ceiling. _He can’t be serious_. Nick yanks his own shirt back on.

“Hanky panky. Canoodling. You know what I mean.”

“I can’t believe I’ve had your dick in my mouth.”

John reaches out and grabs him by the ankle. Nick yelps and John stops the noise with a kiss. Nick’s eyes go wide.

“Drew’s out there,” Nick says, jabbing his index finger toward the open door.

“So?”

“So he’s -”

“He’s in an a cappella group, Nick, for crying out loud. You think the man is a hot-blooded heterosexual male?”

“The man can probably hear you,” Nick reminds him, but he gives in, taking John’s face between his hands and giving him a quick kiss that lasts all of a second. “Let’s go.”

“Uncommon Grounds?”

“Unless you’ve got a better plan.”

“I need a cigarette,” John says, flopping back down on the bed and covering his eyes with his hand.

Nick stands up, just to get out of the bed, and pulls on a gray hoodie. He tugs the hood over his head and crosses his arms, staring down at the floor. He can’t believe he just let this happen. 

John just lays there, hand covering his eyes like a wilting Southern belle.

*

Nick studies John at the counter. It dawns on him that he’s only got two more months of this. He follows John’s lanky frame as he orders, hiding his own face with his coffee cup. Suddenly John turns around, looks directly at him, and beams. Nick likes it when John smiles, really smiles, showing his teeth and dimples and sparkling eyes. It sounds dumb but Nick’s seen this glint in his eye whenever John is grinning at him like he’s the only person on the planet. John turns to take a biscotti from the girl behind the counter. Of course. 

Nick walks up and plunks down a five dollar bill. 

“Why, thank you,” John says. 

“Shall we?” He’d offer John the crook of his elbow if the barista wasn’t already staring at them like they each had two heads.

“We shall,” John responds, and Nick can’t figure out if he’s ignoring her reaction or if he wasn’t even bothered by it in the first place.

“I don’t think I can face Drew yet,” Nick admits, holding the door open for John. 

“Fair enough,” John says, sipping his mocha. “I need to buy cigarettes.” 

They take their coffee to go and walk down the Potomac like an old couple. “First stimulant I’ve had in a week,” John says gratefully, keeping both hands wrapped around his warm cup. They find a weeping willow and sit underneath until they finish their drinks.

John picks up two packs of Marlboro Reds at the gas station. Each of them sense that the other doesn’t want to go back to the dorms just yet, so they walk around downtown, hands tucked in their pockets. 

“What is this place?” John asks when Nick leads him through a large iron gate and past a sign that says Dumbarton Oaks Gardens. 

John cracks a Narnia joke as they walk around side by side through what seems like an endless park. They wander past a greenhouse in a dreamlike wood and down Mélisande's Allée, a narrow brick walkway lined by maple trees to the west. The gardens seem to be mostly deserted, winter’s chill still hanging in the air. The first daffodils of spring threaten to bloom at the edges of the pathway. 

They came to a small pool with a willow tree at its far edge. There are wide and flat brick steps set into the hillside, leading up to a wide trellis and a series of columns. “It’s a theatre,” John realizes out loud, climbing up the empty amphitheater seats. 

_O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention_ , Nick thinks as he takes in John’s lithe frame bounding upward. 

Nick follows.

Nick traces John’s eyeline as he sweeps his gaze around the amphitheater and the pool of water. He seems to be transfixed. Nick knows he’s got a thing about theatres. It doesn’t matter where. Their special energy captivates him.

“Is this - did you plan this?”

“No. I don’t know. Maybe through the power of my subconscious.” Nick hadn’t been here since he was a sophomore helping out that Film and Media Studies major with a student film. He had kind of forgotten this place existed (even though it was only a mile from the school). Of course it made perfect sense that John would love it here. Nick bites his lip.

John takes that steely, focused gaze and turns it on him. “Nick,” he says after a minute, stepping closer. “In every story there’s a moment - a tear, a rip through the story - that changes things forever. And the protagonist can’t go back to the status quo.” 

Why is John talking like his screenwriting professor?

“Are you giving me a writing lesson?” Nick laughs, trying to deflect the seriousness of John’s tone with a joke.

“But things aren’t the same for him after that. They can’t be.”

John rubs his thumb against Nick’s cheek and kisses him. For a second Nick starts to panic - they’re right out in the open and there could be people _anywhere_. They’ve never kissed in public before, but John’s mouth is warm, his lips are sweet and his hands feel familiar and comfortable where they’re holding him at the waist. Nick lets the distracted thought slip away from his head and gives in to the moment. 

The garden is quiet, absent even of birdsong, so quiet that Nick can hear his heartbeat thudding against his own chest. John kisses him deeply, bringing one hand to Nick’s lower back to cradle him closer. The kiss is even starting to warm Nick up.

They pull apart and John chases his mouth for a second kiss, quick but affectionate, looking down at Nick with fondness and a charming smile that reaches the corners of his blue eyes.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” John asks, hoping, not usually one to lack clarity with his precise words, and then - then comes the _tear_. “We could have this all the time,” John says softly, like it’s fucking _nothing_. 

Nick’s hands fall from where they’ve been clutching John. Nick’s heart sinks to the bottom of his chest and he looks away from John’s face. 

“Name one gay comedian,” Nick says bitterly.

“Ellen,” John says, after a long moment of silence.

Nick thumps him in the chest. He narrows his eyes. “A dyke with a cancelled sitcom.”

John swats him right back. “Be polite. Anyway, I thought you liked Ellen.”

“Mulaney,” he starts, drawing out every syllable. Nick only uses his full name when he’s feeling spiteful or petulant. “The network put a warning label on her show. That’s fucking censorship, man,” he says, starting to get riled up. Nick swallows. “I don’t want to be blacklisted before I even break the scene,” he admits. “I can’t _be_ the joke.”

They’re good. They’re both good, and even better together. Nick knows John has a real shot at making it, and wants to believe that he has one, too. From the moment Nick laid eyes on John at his audition for improv group he knew he was destined for something big. It might be cliche but it was one hundred percent true. Nick just knows it. If there’s anything in his life that he’s ever been sure of, it’s that John’s a star.

John pulls Nick into his arms in a crushing hug.

“No offense, but you’re not exactly the nice Jewish girl my parents hoped for,” Nick whispers against John’s chest.

“It’ll be different one day,” John says to him, but feels hollow, feels like it’s lacking the confidence he normally carries. John’s always been the optimistic one out of the two of them, or as Nick says, full of blissful naïveté. John keeps him there a moment too long, holding him a little bit too tight. “I love you either way,” he says quietly. Nick’s pulse leaps. John tucks Nick’s head under his chin, keeping him pressed so hard against his chest so that Nick couldn’t go anywhere even if he wanted to. 

John holds him like that until an elderly couple wanders in and sits down. John and Nick extract themselves from each other, Nick clearing his throat self-consciously. Time to go.

John, polite as ever, waves to the couple when he walks past. Nick can’t look them in the eye, staring at the ground instead.

As soon as they leave the gardens, John pulls out a cigarette and lights it, puffing madly. When Nick notices his shaky hands, he doesn’t say a word. Neither of them manage to speak on the ten minute walk back to the dorms, the oft-walked sidewalks seeming to stretch on for what seemed to be many miles instead of one.

*

Nick is sitting at John’s knees, leaning against him. John’s got an open book propped open on his legs. Nick peers at him over the top. “I can think of a hundred ways to make better use of our time,” Nick promises.

John glares at him playfully. “I decide to study for fifteen minutes for the first time all semester, and you want to distract me for what?”

Nick grins and takes the paperback from him, placing it on the nightstand. “I’ve got a history paper I want to _not_ be writing at this very moment.”

John pretends to be asleep, closing his eyes. Nick watches him quietly for a second, then traces his thumb over the light freckles dusted over the bridge of his nose. He crawls up John’s body and presses a kiss to his neck. Nick is one hundred percent sober, but he realizes that fact doesn’t stop him from wanting John. John traps him between his legs.

They make out until John gets a glimpse of the clock. “Damn it,” he says, pulling back from Nick.

“Did I do something wrong?” Nick asks, and John blinks at him.

“No!” With one hand on Nick’s shoulder, he rolls him over onto his back, kissing him squarely on the mouth with determination. “We’re late for improv.”

This catches Nick’s attention - he’s the director, after all - and he starts adjusting his clothes and straightening his glasses. John tries to flatten down his own hair. They should know better. 

The short walk from their dorms to Bulldog Alley only takes about ten minutes. They walk too close to each other, elbows bumping as they cross the street.

John and Nick are in a scene together at the end of the night, and John is flouncing around behind Nick. He comes up to stand behind him, finding some excuse in the scene to hide in the background.

John buries his head in Nick’s neck. Nick can feels his lips ghosting across the skin on the back of his neck. One of John’s favorite tricks was trying to get Nick to break. He’d try anything to get him to laugh, squirm, or even smile, including nosing the hair at the nape of Nick’s neck the way he was currently doing. Nick gulped, feeling a familiar tingle in his spine _and_ his crotch.

He’d find a way to pay John back for this.

Nick doesn’t sit back down next to John in his usual spot when they finish the scene, instead lingering by the door.

After they wrap up, Nick and John wait until they’re the last ones in the room. Nick frowns, packing up his stuff noisily. “Hilarious,” he says, irritated.

“What was?” John asks, confused.

“Giving me a boner in front of improv group.”

John grins a wicked smile.

“You are the biggest asshole, Mulaney,” he hisses.

“Hey,” John says, frowning. “What’s up with you?” Nick pushes past him, jerking out of his long arm’s reach. “Nick,” John says firmly. “Talk to me,” he pleads, catching Nick by his sleeve. Nick pulls away.

“I need to go.” 

Nick walks out, leaving John standing alone in the middle of the room.

*

It’s not like him to be so quiet, but Nick becomes kind of distant. He stops doing scenes with John at improv. He walks around campus with a scowl on his face. He frowns when John leaves improv with one of the other girls. 

One of the guys even asks him if he’s okay, acknowledging that _something_ is off between the two friends but unaware of the cause of the negative energy that seemed to fill the room.

“You just seem kinda stressed, man,” he points out as John walks away, not sure what he just witnessed.

“I’m great,” Nick says sharply.

“Okay, um, good luck with John,” he adds, patting him on the shoulder. 

It was unrealistic to expect either one of them to skip improv.

It lasts for about two whole weeks, or what feels to the rest of improv group like _forever_.

*

A few days later, Nick shows up at the end of John’s English class, hands tucked into his coat pockets. 

“Can I walk you to your dorm?”

John looks Nick up and down like he’s going to give him hell but instead dumps his textbook into Nick’s hands.

“Have you gotten the stick out of your ass yet?” John asks him.

“There’s nothing in my -” Nick hisses, annoyed by John’s choice of words. This wasn’t going very well so far. “That’s not why I’m here.” John raises his eyebrows. “There’s only a month left in the semester. I don’t want to spend it being mad at you.”

John nods.

“Look… whatever happens,” John starts, “I don’t think it’s going to change the way I feel about you,” he admits. “But I can’t even think about you being gone yet.” 

Nick ignores the sudden heaving in his chest. He can’t look John in the eye, instead looking at the smooth curve of his jaw. “I wasn’t ready. I’m still not ready.” Ready for what, he’s not quite sure. There’s a self-consciousness Nick just can’t shake.

“We don’t have to be anything,” John says, his hand firm on Nick’s shoulder. “Let’s just be us.”

They fall into step together, feet on the pavement finding an easy rhythm, like Nick had been there with John all along.

The cherry blossoms are starting to bloom.

*

Late in the semester, John performs at an open mic night.

Nick hangs out behind the curtain in the wings, hiding his face as best he can as he watches John go through his routine. He’s killing it out there. People are laughing at every single joke. Every single one. He’s calm, collected, and he’s fucking funny.

In that moment, Nick knows he loves him, and he also knows he’s not the only one. Nick Kroll won’t be the first or the last - millions of people are going to fall in love with this man too. Nick doesn’t know if he can love John in the way that he wants or the way he needs. He doesn’t know if he can even tell him. Nick wants him for more than just a night, for more than Georgetown — maybe even for the rest of his life. But Nick knows he would never forgive himself for holding John Mulaney back. 

John finishes his set and exits stage right, and Nick tugs him into the shadows. Nick plants a smooch on his lips. “Hey, super trouper.”

“You liked the set? Was it good?” John sounds horrendously self-conscious. There’s a bead of sweat at his temple.

“Every minute.” Nick kisses his cheeks. “You killed it, buddy. People are going to be watching you for a long time.”

“You mean us,” he corrects. “Thank you, by the way,” John remembers to say, then continues berating Nick. “You have to quit acting like you’re not going to be right there with me. We’re in this together. Well - I might be three years behind you, but I’m going to be there. Trust me.”

“Okay. Yeah,” Nick nods. John kisses him again and he leans into it. Everything with John is so instinctive. John can disarm him completely with a look, a smile, a well-placed touch. “Are you going to come to graduation?” Nick asks, then corrects himself. “I want you to come to graduation.”

“You betcha,” John replies, like it wouldn’t ever have been a question of missing the ceremony. Things had been just a little off since that day in the gardens, just a second off beat. Just enough where Nick wasn’t sure if it was something between the two of them or merely the once distant point of graduation looming ever nearer.

“You’ll have the great honor of meeting Ellen Mulaney. She’s insisting on picking me up herself,” John groans a little at the thought. 

“I look forward to it,” Nick says, and he means it. What he’s not looking forward to is the way the mornings and afternoons seem to be moving faster, like there was less and less time in them. The days were growing steadily warmer, a sign of the cruel summer lurking around the corner. “Come on. Drinks are on me.”

They sneak out the stage door. 

Nick stops at the liquor store to buy a bottle of champagne. They take turns drinking from the bottle as they walk back to campus, smiles on their faces.

*

The annual jazz festival takes place a few weeks before school lets out for the summer. Nick and John go together, and it’s almost like a real date.

The temperature peaks at a sunny seventy-nine degrees, nothing but clear skies to be seen. Everyone’s got lawn chairs and blankets spread out all over Copley Lawn. John even brings a blanket for them to sit on. 

Band after band plays. Eventually the two boys sprawl out on the blanket, laying back and resting their weight on their hands and elbows. John looks happy and relaxed. Occasionally John takes out his pack of cigarettes and lights one, leaning his head back and blowing the smoke straight up into the air after every drag.

John waits until the sun goes down to inch his hand closer to Nick’s. He stretches his pinky finger out and wraps it around Nick’s pinky. It’s a small gesture, so small everybody around them misses it. Hidden in plain sight.

Nick glances at John out of the corner of his eye, a fond look on his face. He might have freaked out about this before, he thinks, but for now he’s just content to be close to John. As if on cue, the sound of the old jazz standard “The Nearness of You” comes drifting out of a trumpet.

They stay put until the last band plays, hanging out to watch everyone pack up their things. John watches the musicians, Nick watches the crowd. The grass starts to get deserted as people clear off the lawn. 

John rolls onto his side. He’s got a look in his eye that Nick recognizes - it’s that look John gets when he wants to kiss him. Nick licks his lips.

John doesn’t kiss him, though. Instead he just studies Nick’s face. Nick looks down instinctively, a knee-jerk reaction, but then turns to John and watches himself being looked at. Nick’s heartbeat pounds in his chest when John’s eyes flick back up to his. 

In that moment, he needs John to know.

 _I love you_ , Nick mouths. 

Nick sort of feels like a coward for not saying it out loud, saying it for real, like it mattered. But it’s the most he can manage. 

John smirks, satisfied regardless. “I know,” he whispers, deadpan. 

Nick just got Han Solo-ed. He’s taken aback for a second, then a wide grin crosses his features. John smiles with him, brilliant eyes gleaming in the night.

Nick lies back, laughing, and looks up at the stars. They shine only half as bright as John’s eyes, which stay fixed on Nick in the dark.

*

John helps Nick pack up his dorm room during the last week of classes, boxing away the once familiar surroundings into cardboard boxes and suitcases. 

The empty room looks different - unsettling - and it feels like the beginning of the end.

*

John had explained to his mother many times that there’d be no need for her to drive to Washington D.C., that he could fly back to Chicago on his own. Ellen had insisted on it anyway, claiming it would be a good opportunity to travel now that school was out for the summer and that it would be a pleasant way to visit her alma mater.

John had offered to take her to the coffee shop on campus, but she requested Clyde’s instead. He’d never been there before but recognized the name.

On the night before graduation, they met up with Nick in front of the restaurant, and John holds the door for them both. John _also_ pushes Nick’s chair in for him, and that’s Ellen’s first real clue. She sits down across from John and Nick.

“So Nick, tell me what your degree is in,” she asks.

“History, Mrs. Mulaney,” Nick says formally, and she chuckles.

“Call me Ellen. Please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, slipping over his words. “Ellen.”

The waitress comes and takes their orders before Ellen can continue interrogating Nick.

“Are you in show business?” John’s mother asks Nick, practically interviewing him. 

“Don’t say it like that, mom,” John groans. Nick squeezes John’s knee under the table, glancing over to make sure he’s okay. 

“Let him answer, honey,” Ellen insists.

“I guess you could say that, yes.”

“Are you in John’s improvisation club?”

“It’s more of a group than a club. Troupe, really. I am - was - the director.”

“Will you be staying in DC for work?” Ellen continues with her line of questioning. John can’t help but sit back and watch.

“New York, actually.”

“Ohh,” she murmurs, sipping her coffee. “New York City. John, you’ll want to visit him, then,” she basically commands. 

Nick turns red and takes a bite of his food. “I think that could happen,” he says. He nudges John with his elbow. “Actually, my birthday is the first week of June. You should come up.”

“Well, there you go, John.”

She listens while they tell her about finals and about ImprovFest. Ellen’s sharp eyes don’t miss the way Nick wordlessly hands John the ketchup for his fries, or the way he sneaks a fry off John’s plate later. Their hands navigate past each other with a familiar ease. More than once she sees John study Nick out of the corner of his eye. It was shaping up to be an interesting evening after all.

She raises her eyebrows at John when Nick gets up to use the restroom.

“What? Why are you looking at me like I’ve done something?”

John was starting to remind her of… well, herself. Stealing glances at Chip, falling in love with an older boy in the springtime. Their stories of Georgetown remind her of her youth, of the way it felt falling in love with John’s father. The way John and Nick interact reminds her of them, in a strange - but sweet - way.

“No reason,” she says innocently. 

An interesting evening indeed.

*

Commencement is early the next morning. Ellen joins her son in the crowd. They clap loudly when they hear the name _Nicholas Kroll_ come over the loudspeakers and Nick walks across the stage to take his diploma.

After the ceremony, while they’re waiting around in the sunshine for Nick, Ellen takes John into her arms for an embrace, smoothing down his cowlick. “Mom,” he hisses.

“I’m proud of you, honey,” she tells him, a beaming smile on her face. 

“Why?” he asks as she tucks a hair behind his ear.

“You’re becoming such a nice young man,” she says, “with such nice friends.” 

She finally lets him go, watching with a knowing look as John’s eyes fall on Nick across the green. “The flight to the Big Apple from DC is only an hour.”

John’s eyes widen as he notices where her gaze has fallen, and his jaw drops a little. Maybe his lawyer mother was even more perceptive than he originally thought. Stunned, he takes a second to gather himself, then hugs her again. “Thanks, mom.”

Ellen watches as John jogs over to Nick, who’s fussing with his graduation cap. John reaches out for one of his spidery hugs and knocks the cap off in the process. Ellen watches her son whisper something in Nick’s ear, then he turns and stares at her like a deer in the headlights. A beat later, Nick smiles sheepishly and brings his hand up for a wave.

John wraps an arm around Nick's shoulders and steers him off in the other direction. 

There’s no dorm for John and Nick to go back to, no meal in the dining hall, no more improv warm-ups. Just the future ahead.

Ellen watches the two boys walk across Healy Lawn together for the last time. It’s like something out of a John Hughes movie.

She smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Eve 6's _Here's to the Night_.


End file.
